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The
Track I promised at the end of the last installment that you'd be informed as to how I fared at the Master's track nationals last week. Not being an authentic track racer I avoided for fear of my life and the general safety of other racers, any event that would place me on the track with more than one other rider who is on the opposite side of the track. Essentially that left me with the 'time trial' options of 1000 meters and 3000 meters. Not possessing sprinting speed the 1000 is ruled out and the 3000 meter became the default event. There is nothing like jumping into the deep end of the pool in order to learn how to swim. The National championships would be my first track event. My only goal was to not finish DFL. On Friday morning at 9:00 CST the 3k pursuit for 40-44 year old men began. I was slotted in the 7th pair of the day. I watched the starters ahead of me for tips on technique and such. I had settled for no good reason on a gear ratio of 52x15. The Lovely Kathy had taken the day off of work and was driving to the Velodrome from Champaign - approximately an hour and forty-five minute drive. Lovely Kathy was attempting to make the drive in about an hour and 20 minutes in order to catch me on the track for the 4 minutes that I'd be on. Carl Wilkins and USCF regional rep Mike Hanley were the officials on my side of the track for the start. It was calming to see familiar faces in such an unfamiliar event. I managed to get going without a false start or popping a wheelie and was successful at remaining below the red line during the first lap. My first lap was 29 seconds and my next was 25.5 and I then settled into 26 second laps give or take a few tenths on way or the other. This is important I've learned as track racing is a matter of 1/10ths of seconds. What I felt on the bike was that I was pedaling as quickly as I could while maintaining control of my vehicle. When I tried to pedal faster I'd lose form and flail all over the place, nearly crashing into the sponge blocks below the black and blue lines. It was a distressing feeling. I was going as fast as I could but it was not fast enough because I was comfortable. As an experienced time trialist, I know comfortable isn't a feeling that should be used to describe a race effort. I'd chosen the wrong gear and I was stuck with it. I finished in 4 minutes flat. Only three racers finished slower - a man with one lung, a man who weighed at least 300 pounds and a man who did his 3k while smoking a cigarette and eating a danish. Team mate professor Smurphy informed me that I was, to look on the bright side, precisely on the downward edge of the bell curve of riders clustered within 4 seconds of each other. I also took solace knowing that a half second per lap would a have moved me onto the podium. The track is after all a matter 1/10ths of seconds.
To prove that point The Lovely Kathy arrived at the Velodrome exactly at the precise moment that I cruised across the finishing line. She drove at breakneck speed for 120 miles and missed me by 4 minutes. Had she driven breakneck speed plus 1 mph, she would have avoided all of the red lights she had to stop for on the way to the 'drome and she would have seen my event. After being told by a friend that she had "just missed me" Lovely Kathy braided a daisy chain of expletives that would make a sailor blush. Immediately every other rider at the Velodrome was jealous of me for having landed a woman with such a foul mouth. "Dude, is that your chick?" "Yeah." "She's a goddess." "I know." After I had a chance to cool down I was feeling a bit annoyed with myself for not trusting that I could use a gear that was 4 inches longer (which may or may not have gotten me the extra ½ second per lap but it's nice to imagine that it would have). Dr. Nowakowski said an interesting thing to me. He said "If you had some leg speed you could win this thing." On the surface this sounds like an encouraging statement. Under further scrutiny the statement is the rough equivalent of telling Larry Bird "If you had fast twitch muscles and were 3 inches taller you could have been the greatest Center in the history of the NBA" or telling Don Sutton - the master of the junk pitch - "if you could throw a fastball at more than 75 mph, you could be an All Star closer." Or telling the Fred Durst wannabe who hangs out at the 7-11 with baggy clothes and his ball cap cocked at a ¾ sideways angle on his head "if you were smart, talented, physically fit and ambitious you could be an astronaut." My response was - "I needed more gears." This prompted Dr. Nowakowski to shake his head in disgust and say to Wun Tun "They never learn, do they."
The Papa John's Pizza bike racing team hosted a big money masters racing weekend in Louisville, KY on the Saturday and Sunday prior to Labor Day. Louisville is a cool old river town with excellent dining, grand hotels and a very hip entertainment district on 4th street. Lovely Kathy and I bunked at the Seelbach - a magnificent hotel right in the heart of downtown Luhvulle. The accommodations and the activity on 4th Street made the trip a winner in and of themselves. As per, the Indianapolis teams tend to avoid tough, competitive races like the plague, so the fields while adequate were smaller than they should have been for such an excellent production. The notable exception here is the Heroes team who fielded a good sized contingent in the 30+ races. Good on them, I say. Papa John himself told me that this racing weekend would be an annual event despite the low turn out of the first edition, so next year I advise the readers over age thirty to make this a red star "A race" on your calendar. As it was, there were racers from Ohio, Tennessee, North Carolina, Indiana and Illinois present. Some speculation was made that high gas prices kept attendance down. I live in Champaign, IL , a drive of exactly 3hrs 30min including potty stops, which for me on the return trip as I'll explain later were frequent and urgent. Even with the high gas prices the total fuel cost for this trip was $55. I'll gladly spend that to attend races with quality fields and challenging courses. Some thought was given that the road course was "too hard" and that kept attendance down. I say poppycock. The course was a challenge to be sure but not brutal. Most quality bike racers look forward to racing on selective tracks against good riders. Plus, big money races shouldn't be contested on cupcake courses. Road
Race: 35 hearty souls, at least a good third of which are Pizza
Boys, stage for a neutral start at St. Peters Catholic Parish some
where in South Hooterville. The race is 9 laps of a rolling 7.5
mile track featuring two small ring climbs of less than 400 meters
with rolling terrain and false flats in between. The roads were
high quality and traffic was so sparse that the center line rule
was not invoked, as on coming traffic was easily controlled by the
lead car and motorcycle official. It was an awesome venue in my
opinion. With the neutral rollout complete the Papa John's boys
began firing off attacks that strung the race out. On the first
of the two climb things stayed pretty well together. On the second
lap the race broke up a bit as Dr Bill from the Pizza Boys took
off up the road. I made my way up to him while the field splintered
behind. Once coupled, Dr. Bill and I worked our way to a 1:20 advantage.
It was inevitable that at some point the motorcycle official would
tell Dr. Bill and me that the 9 rider chase group had become just
a group of pizza boys preparing to deliver a box of fresh hot pain.
And so it went. "3 Papas at: 55". Dr. Bill - "I'll
pull through half hearted until I see them then I'm done working"
One lap later: Official - "Just so you know…the 3 Pizza
Boys are right behind you." For two laps we worked the break cohesively, until with 3 to go, the motorcycle official informed the Pizza Boys that team mate Bobrow was 1:55 back. After some discussion amongst them, I heard "Mike, you want to start attacking him now or should we wait for Bobrow to join the fun. You know he's always wanted a go at Druber." McShane- "I don't care as long as I can go first. I'm not getting any sloppy seconds after Bobrow." With that, I moved to the front and did some hard tempo riding. If it was going to be one way or the other, given the choice, being ravaged by 4 was preferable to being ravaged by 5. I did not want Bobrow to catch. I was able to cover, duck and dodge the moves for the next two laps. On the penultimate climb of the nasty leg buster on the back side of the course, McShane attacked hard. I didn't bother to fight him off. Once over the top, Spanbauer applied the gas twice and I was able to respond. Dr. Bill attacked and got a 40 meter gap but appeared to be struggling. I thought it might be a good opportunity to counter and get free from at least a couple of these guys so I countered hard as I went past Dr. Bill. I hoped that he'd been dropped but when I glanced under my arm a half mile later, I saw them all three lined up, taking turns behind me. It was painful. At this point, pain upon pain wasn't such a bad idea so I kept the gas on through the rollers and eventually reeled McShane in at the base of the next to last time up the climb into the finish line. We started up the hill together. Then, my chain got hung up on the big ring as I desperately tried to derail it down to the small ring. "Awww come on!" With that, the Pizza Boys pounced. It only took about 3 seconds for me to eventually get the shifting right but by that time the Boys figured they'd had enough of me and it was time to get away before the authorities found me in their possession with a red ball in my mouth. They did a 4 man TT and gapped me to about 10 seconds. Race over. Spanbauer and McShane eventually left Homza and Dr. Bill, I caught the latter two and pulled them to the next climb Dr. Bill dropped a chain on the climb, I rode away with Homza on my rear. On the last time up the start/finish climb Homeboy decided he'd had enough fun, and left my abused carcass by the side of the road. I wobbled, over the line in my latex suit and red ball and collapsed into the arms of the head official who asked me if I'd like to press charges. "No, I'd rather just pretend that it never happened, if you don't mind." "Sure…I understand; the local magistrates tend to turn a deaf ear to complaints of buggery anyway and besides which that's bike racing." The Lovely Kathy and I thoroughly enjoyed 4th street that night - Kathy more so than I - as we hit the Howl at the Moon piano bar and the Maker's Mark Tavern and restaurant. We were joined on the outdoor patio of the Maker's Mark by a group of 6 MILF's who were out without their ball and chains. I sipped 18 year old bourbon and enjoyed the boy/girl ratio and Kathy enjoyed a few dirty martinis. The next morning, I woke with explosive diarrhea and Kathy of course woke with a fat head. I spent the better part of the next 6 hours - how can I say this delicately? - losing electrolytes. After taking enough Immodium to block up a horse the distress subsided somewhat about 45 minutes before the crit was to start. I dressed for the race and warmed up hoping things would improve. Just before race time I decided to do a couple of hot laps to test myself and made it about half way round the course before breaking out into a cold, clammy sweat. My day was over. I made yet another trip to the port-o-let to lose some more electrolytes. David LeDuc put on an impressive display of power as he lapped the field with McShane and 2 other riders then broke away from the field and caught Bobrow, Homza and Spanbauer who were another half lap away. I assume he didn't flat or crash and ended up winning the race. I couldn't see the finish of the race from the port-o-let. Kudos go to the Pizza Boys and Papa John Himself who put together a great weekend of racing with distance, terrain and money. Big money races should be tough. This race is premiere in that regard. Next year, those of you who fancy yourselves good bike racers, look for the Papa John's Louisville bike race weekend on your calendar and plan on testing yourself. The Future So ends yet another bike racing season. It's been great racing on the rare turn that we've been together with the Estridge/Delta boys. I've enjoyed learning a wee bit about the track, gleaning from the Sage Dr. Nowakowski and WunTun. I'm also extremely fortunate to have remained upright for the 3rd season in a row. On October 2 The Lovely Kathy will become The Lovely Mrs. Swartzendruber. Life is good.
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